


it breaks, i break, you break, we break

by skai_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, F/M, Necromancy, Possibly Unrequited Love, Psychological Horror, Short One Shot, Supernatural Elements, The 100 (TV) Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: "You want to bring him back," the woman says. Not a question, not an assumption. A fact. Clarke doesn't have to ask who the woman is referring to—she just nods."There will be consequences."Clarke lifts her chin. "I'll face them.""Child—""You have no idea what I would do to bring him back," Clarke whispers. "I would raise hell and I would destroy heaven if it meant that he will live again."
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	it breaks, i break, you break, we break

**Author's Note:**

> okay sorry i'm not posting normally; i was recently hospitalized with a fractured spine

It's truly—

_Disgusting._

They have painted the ground with his blood, a dark, brownish-red mass below him. His skin is grey and his body looks like a deflated balloon. The gaping hole in his side looks worse, though, where she can see the bugs crawling in and out of his ribcage, still stained with blood. 

Some small noise escapes her mouth, and she feels Miller grab her shoulders.

"Clarke, go back," he whispers, they whisper, everyone around her, living and dead. "Clarke, go back to camp."

"No," she says. Her voice is steady, even as she fights the smell of rotting flesh and walks over to his body, no, his corpse.

Pale freckles, curly hair. Bellamy, Bellamy, _Bellamy._

"We're taking him back to camp," she says, still staring at his sunken, pallid face. Bellamy, _Bellamy._

"Clarke—" Finn murmurs, touching the small of her back. "Clarke, _please—"_

"Did you hear what I said?" Clarke asks sharply. "We're taking him back."

* * *

They keep his body in the top level of the Dropship. Nobody says anything about how Clarke visits it every morning, nobody reminds her that she spends all of her free time with the corpse of a man she hated so vehemently.

 _I want him back,_ she thinks, constantly, without pause, without reason. _I want him back._

 _So bring me back,_ his blank eyes seem to say, eyes she didn't have the strength to close, to close and let go.

She takes his hand, after a few days. His skin is rough and gross and Clarke imagines that it's like the sensation of touching raw meat. 

_Bellamy, Bellamy._

She tightens her grip. She thinks she hears a bone in his finger crack.

* * *

She finds the woman amidst the glittering butterflies, the woman with dark hair and dark skin and dark eyes.

"You want to bring him back," the woman says. Not a question, not an assumption. A fact. Clarke doesn't have to ask who the woman is referring to—she just nods.

"There will be consequences."

Clarke lifts her chin. "I'll face them."

"Child—"

"You have no idea what I would do to bring him back," Clarke whispers. "I would raise hell and I would destroy heaven if it meant that he will live again."

* * *

She drags the body through the forest in the dead of the night, not caring about how the Grounders could find her, could kill her. She has one purpose, and one purpose alone.

The woman waits, arms and legs crossed, eyeing the lump within the fabric almost hungrily. 

"Bring him back," Clarke says, panting slightly from the effort of dragging Bellamy for so long. _"Please."_

"No second thoughts?" the woman asks, approaching the jumbled mess of organs and skin and _Bellamy._

"Not a single one."

"Close your eyes," the woman says.

And Clarke does.

* * *

"Louder," he growls in her ear, thrusting even harder into her. "Louder."

She screams curses, but also his name, mostly his name. 

_Bellamy._

He lifts a leg and hooks it over his shoulder, making her moan and scream incoherently.

_Bring him back._

_Bring him back._

* * *

"I brought him back," she whispers softly to the metal walls of the dropship. "I brought him back."

* * *

He is not the same.

* * *

_He holds the tip of the knife against the sleeping woman's neck, the neck littered with marks of his own insatiable desire. To hurt, to kill, to love, to destroy. Golden hair across a pillow._

_Blood. He wants blood._

_He wants her. He wants her to be with him, six feet underground, and blood. He wants to be dead again, and this time he wants her to be, too._

* * *

He is not the same. He never is.


End file.
